


The Boy and The Bot

by nameofuser71



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:34:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27359632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nameofuser71/pseuds/nameofuser71
Summary: Knifey the Stabbing Cleaning Bot learns how to feel things and is happy for like. 2 days. And then immediately regrets it.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	The Boy and The Bot

**Author's Note:**

> Backstory for Knifey is angsty, I'm sorry.  
> Warnings for mentions of child neglect and bullying. Also brief mentions of blood.  
> Sorry if the perspective is confusing, Knifey is telling the story and trying it's hardest to be completely objective and refuse to acknowledge it's Feeling Things Now. Because it's sad and it hates being sad.

The first thing it remembered was the Boy. The Boy. The Boy and The Family.

The Boy wasn’t the first thing there ever was, it knew that. Objectively (and it was nothing if not objective) it knew there was something called History, and that History had happened A Long, Long Time Ago. That was what the Boy said. There were things that happened Just The Other Day and there was A Long, Long Time Ago, and that second one was History. So yes, it knew the Boy was not the first thing there ever was. But the Boy would always be the first thing to it.

It was a small thing, just a cleaning bot. It belonged to a large house, and so did the Family. The Family is what the Boy called them. Well, he called them My Family, but the cleaning bot didn’t have a right to claim the family. They were just The Family to the bot. The Boy belonged to it, though. The Boy may be the only thing the bot might have a claim to, in fact. It’s Boy. It liked that idea- as much as it could like anything.

The Family had been messy, which was not a complaint. Not from a cleaning bot. A cleaning bot likes- as much as it can like anything- to be busy. So the Family had been a good family. They left the bot alone, expected it to do its duty and clean. They ignored it, except to give orders, or when the older children kicked it. The bot thought later, the Boy and the bot were very much alike in that way. There were other children, but they were not kind to the bot. Or the Boy. The baby was too young to have learned kindness, and the two older ones were too old to know anything but cruelty. The Boy was always kind to the bot.

The Boy said it had been an accident. That was the first true memory the bot had: The Boy stepping back, the tall woman, the Mother, looked angry, as much as a bot could understand anger, and the Boy looked scared. It wasn’t until the Boy started crying that the bot rolled into the Mother’s legs and she fell. The Boy had grabbed the bot, and ran. He only stopped to pick up his knife. The Family tried to grab him, to run after him, but the Boy was fast, and small, and able to run.

They didn’t go back to the house after that. The bot remembered it had to go back. It had a job to do. There had been lines, so many strange lines, as much as anything was strange to it. The lines had to be cleaned up.

This was not to say the bot wanted to go back, as much as it could want- or not want- anything. The bot was… scared was not the word. Scared is an emotion. The Boy was scared sometimes, the Family was scared when the time called Elections was close. They were scared they would lose seats, or something like that. The Boy was often scared the Mother would notice him, or not notice him. Later, he was scared more. (But later is for later.) No, the bot was not scared. It could not be. But it was.

There had been lines, and there was the thing that had stood within them. The tall thing, taller than the tallest of the Family. It was tall, and indescribable, and promising a wish in exchange. Exchange for what? The bot didn't stop to ask, it was busy. The lines had needed to be cleaned up. They were fresh paint, very easy to clean, they wouldn’t even stain, they just needed soap and scrubbing and-  
But then the Mother was there, and the Mother was angry. The Family had been scared the past week, scared about losing seats. And they had closed the door, which the bot had been angry about- as much as it could be angry- because that meant it couldn’t clean in that room. So, when the Boy went looking for his knife, the one the Uncle had given him, he opened the door… 

The bot had not hesitated to zoom past the Boy’s legs and into the room to clean. As it suspected, everything was a mess. There was something red and sticky on the floor, and then there was paint, and the paint was only just dry, so it would be easy to clean. The bot had beeped happily, and the Boy had laughed. And the Boy was happy because he had found his knife. The Boy liked the knife very much, because the Uncle had given it to him. The Uncle wasn’t kind like the boy was, but he never kicked the bot, and he always said ‘thank you’ when the bot was finished cleaning. And most importantly, the Uncle was kind to the Boy. He pat him on the shoulder, smiling, and called him, “My Boy!” The bot was glad the Boy had someone to claim him. Life was lonely when you had no one to claim. As much as the bot could understand loneliness.

Even after they left, the bot wasn’t lonely. It had the Boy. My Boy. The boy did belong to it now, as much as it belonged to him. They could claim each other. The bot remembering thinking, as much as it could think, how nice it would be to be able to claim someone, just before the Mother had made my Boy afraid that first night.  
It wasn’t long until my Boy was afraid again.

It was another tall woman, in a dark uniform. My Boy called her Officer, and she was very angry that my Boy had taken something. Stolen, she said. The bot remembered this word as well, then someone had Stolen the Seat from one of the Family, and they had gotten angry, too, before the person who had Stolen had mysteriously disappeared. But my Boy didn’t have any seats, and the bot did not want him to disappear. So, the bot did the only thing it knew how to do when people were angry: aimed for the ankles.

My Boy had grabbed the bot again, and ran, with Officer chasing them. But my Boy was fast, and small, and able to hide. After that, my Boy smiled and said, “Mother says I’m too young to have a knife, but maybe you can use it.” My Boy had used something shiny and sticky, and put the three-blade dagger under it so it stuck to the bot. The bot was very happy by this, and beeped in excitement. And my Boy had laughed at that. He hadn’t been scared, just for a moment, he was happy, and that made me happy.

That made the bot happy, I mean… As much as the bot could be happy.

The next time my boy was scared, the bot hurt the people who made him scared. They had been tall, and had ugly smiles and ugly eyes. Cruel eyes. Wicked smiles. They were like the older kids in the Family, who kicked smaller things just for fun. They had seen the bot first, and one knelt to croon at the bot. “Such a lovely little Knifey,” he said, before my Boy had turned the corner and seen the taller ones trying to take Knifey.

My Boy, my brave Boy, had run towards them, knocked Knifey out of their hands, and hit one of them. They were angry by that, and the man tried to grab my Boy, before Knifey ran into the man’s ankle. The dagger hit something soft, and red sticky stuff started to leak out. Knifey remembered the red sticky stuff it had tried to clean up behind the locked door before the Mother got angry.

But then my Boy was free, and running, and Knifey was zooming after him, but he was small, and fast, and Knifey couldn’t catch up.

And Knifey was lonely again, as much as the bot could be lonely.


End file.
